


In life after life, in age after age

by inkandella



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, James is doing his best, M/M, thomas and james being Actual Soulmates we stan kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandella/pseuds/inkandella
Summary: “You must know, James, that this is a very traditional household,” Thomas mumbled after a few minutes. “It would be a horribly impolite gesture to ignore such traditions, however frivolous they may seem.”The morning sun streaked through the room’s wide windows, lighting up the dust floating in the air like fairies. The courtyard outside was carpeted with frost that reflected the sun tenfold, turning the whole world aglow.James turned his head and met Thomas’ kiss, smile brighter than the sun.Or;Thomas and James get to spend the holidays together and they're just as disgustingly happy (and dramatic) as you'd expect.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 53





	In life after life, in age after age

**Author's Note:**

> A secret santa exchange for gassadarts! I had a whole edit planned out, but I saw the art (linked at the end notes) gassada posted for me as my gift and was immediately inspired. So consider this fic as an accompaniment to it! I hope you enjoy it, Gassada! And please excuse me posting a day off the deadline, I started writing this as soon as you posted but this ended up being a lot longer than I had planned! It truly had a mind of it's own. 
> 
> This is a sappy Christmas fic with way too much mistletoe involved, just a fair warning.

It was a rather unagreeable December day in London, blustery ocean winds sweeping a chill through the city and winter sun deceptively bright as it lay low in the sky. The streets were noisy—carriages sweeping up and down the cobblestone, people dressed in their warmest layers dodging dangerously between them, most with baskets or parcels of brown paper and twine held tight in their arms. Children ran alongside the buildings, almost indifferent to the weather (it more important to squeeze their last drops of freedom from the daylight and stretch their legs, and let their voices fly loud and high without scolding from their mothers). 

Lieutenant James McGraw walked briskly through the bustling streets, coat drawn tight around him to shield from the cold and collar popped high around his neck. It felt oddly nice to be back on the London streets. James loved the sea, truly, but there was such a thing as too much time spent in her waters, and this time of year made the waves and wind colder than most could endure. Nevertheless, he realized that this was the first time he was genuinely excited to be off a ship, and he couldn’t exactly place why. Then again, he supposed he had never before had something in the city to truly look forward to. 

By the time he made it to his destination, his hands had gone almost completely numb, and the contents of the case he had been carrying seemed to have turned into weights. The image of removing his gloves to find his fingers tinged blue and purple fleetingly floated through his head. Despite the feeling (or lack thereof) in his hand, he gave a few strong knocks to the door, his knuckles tingling strangely as they hit the hard wood. The door opened less than a minute later, and James almost took an involuntary step back. 

Thomas Hamilton stood at the doorway, mouth parting a little in surprise as he saw James. “Hello, Lieutenant.” His lips twitched up. 

“Lord Hamilton,” James’ voice cracked as he tried unsuccessfully to make his voice seem professional. “I wasn’t expecting to see you at the door.” 

Thomas’ smile grew. “I’ve sent all the servants home early today.” His voice remained nonchalant, but there was a twinkle in his eyes now that made James’ heart skip a beat. “Please, come in.” 

Thomas stepped back from the door to let him enter. James shuffled past the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him, the sudden change in temperature sending a shiver down his spine. With the door closed behind them, James let the military stiffness fall away from his body, shoulders rounding and hand unclenching as he took in the familiar paintings and carpets of the entry room. He had only been in Hamilton’s service a few months, but already the estate had begun to feel familiar, like home. Though, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, that feeling came mostly from the man who occupied it, whose smile lit up the rooms and warmed him better than any fireplace. It wasn’t but a few seconds before his gaze was drawn back to Thomas, gold hair messy and eyes bright, and he soon felt that comforting warmth wash over him like he had never left. 

He put the thin luggage case he was carrying down by his feet (and felt his traitorous heart stutter in his chest once more as Thomas tilted his head, tracking his movements, smile growing unbearably soft) and he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding since the last time he had been in the manor. James tugged his gloves off, almost disappointed to see his fingers were not, in fact, as dramatically colored as he had imagined. 

Once James had placed the gloves on top of his case, Thomas reached out, pulling James’ hands from his side. He traced James’ calluses with nimble fingers that were smooth and balmy against them. The only imperfection that could be found on Thomas’ own hands was the raised bump on the knuckle of his right ring finger, made rough from countless hours spent in close company with quills. James found himself running his fingers over it distractedly. He had never been one for writing himself, much preferring the heavy weight of a grip or gun in his palm, which themselves gave their own blisters and corns. 

The two of them were as different as night and day, James thought absently, their hands only a small peek into just how so. He let out another breath as he let himself remember the way Thomas’ fingers looked, how they moved, how they traced over ink and paper with reverence, and over James’ body with even more. It had been too long since he had held them, and he had missed how they fit together so perfectly. They were like two pieces of a puzzle, different in color and shape and size; yet as it turned out they were cut from the same cloth, made to fit against each other and no other.

James’ hands securely in his own, Thomas began to move backward, eyes never leaving James’ as he led them further into the house. He brought them to a stop once they reached an archway to the rest of the manor, tugging James close until there was but a foot of space between their chests. Not close enough for James to feel his breath against his cheek, but close enough for him to see the green in Thomas’ eyes. Thomas simply stood there, hands tightly grasped around James’, staring down at him like the sun had come out for the first time in months. James let him, for a moment (two, three, a fourth) until he raised an eyebrow in both question and mirth. Thomas only grinned wider. “Look up, Lieutenant.” And he said the title in a murmur, as if it were a placeholder, the same way one would say  _ darling  _ or  _ dear one _ . 

James looked up. 

“You  _ can’t  _ be serious,” he chuckled in disbelief. Thomas gave a soft laugh in return, tugging away one of his hands to cup James’ cheek in his palm.

“More than ever, my love.” Ah. There it was. 

And really, who was James to refuse his Lord? 

He kissed Thomas under the mistletoe right as the grandfather clock chimed in a new hour. 

* * *

It went on like that for days, James finding mistletoe strung up in unassuming doorways, always with Thomas nearby to steal a kiss. James got over the surprise at the childishness of it quickly enough, overpowered by how practically  _ endearing  _ it was. Besides, never had he ever felt such excitement and trepidation in an act as simple as wandering the halls of an old manor. 

Thomas had decided to send all but a few servants home for the week, leaving the house blessedly quiet and, most importantly, free from prying eyes. Miranda had, too, departed, electing to visit her family in the countryside for the winter celebrations and leaving Thomas and James well and truly alone. Just the thought itself made James’ pulse quicken, and amongst the seclusion he found himself enjoying Thomas’ little game more than he’d thought he’d ever permit himself to. 

The first time James had stumbled across another hanging string of mistletoe, he had stood, stuck in place, staring at the sprig with a happy skip to his heart and warm thoughts meandering through his mind. Thomas came up behind him a few minutes later, wrapping his arms around James’ waist and pressing a smile into his neck. He let his eyes close, and pressed his forehead into Thomas’ hair. 

“You must know, James, that this is a very traditional household,” Thomas mumbled after a few minutes. “It would be a horribly impolite gesture to ignore such traditions, however frivolous they may seem.” 

The morning sun streaked through the room’s wide windows, lighting up the dust floating in the air like fairies. The courtyard outside was carpeted with frost that reflected the sun tenfold, turning the whole world aglow. 

James turned his head and met Thomas’ kiss, smile brighter than the sun. 

* * *

They lay next to each other still breathless, sweat drying in glistening beads on their skin despite the constant and bitter winter chill in the house. James moved his hand across the sheets between them, lacing his fingers through Thomas’. 

“You should put some above your bed,” he whispered. 

Thomas squeezed his fingers. “Would that not be the smallest bit redundant?” 

“Mm, how so?” 

Thomas rolled over and showed James just exactly how so. 

* * *

“I must say,” Thomas began conversationally one morning over a plate of thin biscuits and tea, “That hanging all of these plants is getting quite perilous. Some of these doorways are rather high, I’m afraid I might break my neck.” 

James only gave a lazy lift of his lips, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly as he flipped a page in the latest  _ Review _ . “A curious demurral to hear from a man so  _ vertically advanced _ as you.” 

“Ah, is that what the physicians are calling the gift of good stature now?”

“Oh, goodness no,” James went on, voice almost maundering. “Just us rowdy naval men. We also have plenty of other sayings about men so vertically advanced as yourself, and the attributes of their—“

“ _ James _ .” 

The lieutenant only laughed, closing his paper and reaching for the biscuit Thomas had so conveniently let fall to his plate. “I shall agree that that is quite a problem, my lord. May I ask how you plan on dealing with it?” 

“I’m not quite sure yet.” Thomas stood up, pushing the plate toward James absentmindedly before he began gathering his papers and books in his arms. “But you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

* * *

“James, I believe I’ve had the most brilliant idea.”

The lieutenant flicked his eyes up from the piles of parchment in his lap, blinking against the sun now in his eyes. He heard Thomas again before he saw him, the heavy heels of a noble making a familiar, distinguishable sound as they trod quickly across the gravel pathway through the garden. From his seat on a stone bench, the one placed under Miranda’s beloved hazel tree, James sighed and straightened his papers before placing them neatly beside him. 

“Really, now? It has been not even a half hour since we were in the reading room. Something has sprung into your head so quickly?” 

“Despite your rather distracting profanities—” And here Thomas’ face finally came into view, lit rather pleasingly by the morning light as he rounded the corner, and making a smile arise fondly and unbidden on James’ lips. “—yes. I’ve had quite the solution dawn on me.”

“Do tell,” James indulged, patting the stone next to him. Thomas sat down, smiling up at the clouds moving between the barren branches of the tree and smiling happily, crow’s feet sharp and charming around his eyes. 

“What if,” and here his mouth curled up even more as he eyed James out of the corner of his eye, “I simply just carried the mistletoe around with me? We can remove the need for a doorframe all together.” 

James turned to Thomas slowly, his mouth parting in slight disbelief. “ _ That _ , was your brilliant idea?”

“Before you judge so strongly, love, maybe we should give it a try?” And by God, those blue eyes and mischievous voice were going to kill James one day. “Trial and error is the most productive way to go about a new hypothesis.” And there was a sprig of mistletoe in Thomas’ hand now, small, its white berries shining bright in the sun, and it was all James could do but huff out a laugh, grab the man by the chin, and wipe the mirth from Thomas’ lips with his own. 

“You’re assuming that I find it disappointing,” James whispered as they parted what seemed like hours later. “But rather contrary, I find that idea one of the most ingenious things I’ve ever heard.”

And now Thomas’ smile really did seem to rival the sun, James thought in near wonder as Thomas laughed and kissed him swiftly. “Well, if that’s the case, it seems only fair to congratulate us both for its inception.”

James let out his own laugh. “I shall take my due with great satisfaction, then.” He let his forehead rest against Thomas’, and James thought that he had never felt so carefree in his entire life. He let the moment envelop him, rest light and comfortable in his soul and in his bones, the entire world seeming to pause and revel in happiness alongside them. He let the minutes pass with no thought toward counting them, and was only interrupted what seemed like an entire lifetime later by a stray droplet of water falling from the frost on the branches above him. It landed with a soft plop on the curve of his cheek, and James jumped slightly at the sudden cold. Thomas pulled back at the movement, then let out a breathy laugh at James’ surprised expression. He reached out a tender hand and brushed the wetness from his cheek, leaving a chaste peck in its stead. He gave them another blissful second.

“If only we could work so diligently on the issue of Nassau,” James lamented, only half joking. 

Thomas pulled back again, eyelids fluttering. His smile didn’t disappear, but the crow’s feet seemed to fade as he spoke. “If the problems of men and power could be solved with mistletoe, James, well…” And here he picked up James’ hand with a gentle squeeze and traced the callous’ reverently, just like he had done on that first day. “I would very much like to live in that world.”

* * *

Mistletoe ceased to be found in doorways throughout the manor, which was probably best for the servants’ sake if nothing else, despite how much Thomas and Miranda may trust them. But whenever Thomas and James crossed paths (which was quite often, James was delighted to realize) between reports to the Admiralty, visits to town, or the tedious entertainment of noblemen that Thomas had to endure, Thomas was there with a devilish smile and green leaves in his hand. It became a game of sorts, and sometimes they would spend what seemed like hours together, not touching, instead moving around each other as if in an orbit. In a constant free-fall toward each other, yet never quite allowed to touch. It reminded James of how they were before that fateful dinner with Alfred Hamilton, and it drove him mad. Simply talking and, well,  _ flirting _ in a seemingly endless loop until Thomas brought out the mistletoe or James pulled it hastily out of the man’s pocket himself and pressed a hungry kiss (or more) to Thomas’ mouth. 

One such time Thomas’ teasing went on a full day, Christmas Eve as it was, only giving James a single bastardly smirk when he returned from town in the morning and then continuing on as if he was none the wiser to how James was slowly spirally into madness. 

It was nearing midnight by the time the scale tipped, and the two of them had settled in the library, fire fixed and the room warm and homely. James was intent on finding a book in Thomas’ collection that he hadn’t yet read, however he soon found himself in the peaceful task of reorganizing the shelves. Thomas, the absolute devil he was, had begun a rather annoying habit of brushing right up behind James to reach for a book. As if he  _ really  _ had use for the sixth installment of  _ Res Novae _ mere five minutes after picking up the fifth. Thomas had slid his hand around James’ waist (for “balance”, he claimed, balance James’  _ ass _ ) one too many times for James to handle, and with a rather embarrassing noise he would later deny that he ever made, he turned swiftly, gripped the back of Thomas’ neck with both his hands, and yanked down to crush his mouth into Thomas’ own. 

Thomas let out a surprised grunt of his own, before kissing back just as fiercely. For a few beautiful seconds James was in heaven, the winding tightness in his chest that had been building all day fleeing from him like the breaking of a dam. And then Thomas nipped at his bottom lip a little too hard (and really, he should not have found that as attractive as he did, he was pretty sure he could taste  _ blood  _ now, for God’s sake) and James pulled back with a ragged breath, glaring at Thomas, daring him to say anything damning. “There is  _ no _ situation in which you needed seven de Cervantes novels in the span of an hour, Thomas.” 

Thomas had the gall to  _ grin _ , the bastard. “I shan't make excuses. But I must share my concern about one thing.” James only raised his eyebrows. Thomas’s hands moved across his chest, fingers trailing lower toward his waist, thumbs pressing into the curve of James’s hips. James refused to give him the satisfaction of shivering. He was mostly successful. “I’m wondering how we’re ever going to fair once the holiday seasons are over,” Thomas whispered, low, and James frowned. Something odd tickled in the back of his mind before leaving as swiftly as it had appeared, James’ mind becoming preoccupied with Thomas’ wet mouth on his throat and his soft hands moving dangerously lower. 

* * *

One would think it possible to get tired of kisses, eventually, even with circumstances such as theirs. There were only so many ways one can kiss, only so many places and so many times. Such people would find themselves to be terribly wrong. When James felt Thomas’ lips under his, it was the same feeling he got standing on the bow of a ship, ocean spray hitting his face and wind whipping his hair out of its carefully laced ties. It was  _ freedom _ , pure and beautiful, and James reveled in it like it was the open water itself. 

“I’ve never been wooed in such a way before, my Lord,” James said teasingly after one such dreamlike kiss. Over the past week, his smile seemed to have become a permanent fixture, and it appeared bright and joyous now. They were sprawled out together atop a bed, clothes still on (though stripped to their loose tunics and breaches), simply enjoying the novelty of sharing the same space without fear of interruption. They had brought their work, notes and logs and letters about Nassau and her pirates and all that was wrong about the world, but it lay forgotten, strewn around them atop the sheets almost pitifully untouched. 

Thomas pressed another peck to his lips in reply. 

“I think we are long past the wooing stage, my love.” 

“Ah, now that is a shame. I would have liked to experience such an act at least once in my life.” 

“Who says you cannot?” And there was something strange in Thomas’s voice now. “You are young yet.”

James paused, turning his head slowly to press an unsteady kiss to Thomas’ head. He left his lips there, a slight pressure behind them, and gave only a hum in response. Thomas seemed to understand, enough to know that it was best to leave it there—lest they were forced to deal with realities that left little room for happiness. There would be a time and a place for those, but not here, definitely not now. 

Thomas’s breathing evened out after a few minutes, a rare moment’s sleep taking him despite the sun still shining high through the windows. James made a valiant attempt to continue reading through one last memo, yet he began to feel his eyelids droop and soon enough he felt the parchment fall from his hands and fall listlessly to the bed. Oh, well. It couldn’t hurt to take a short rest, could it? It only took a few seconds of self-convincing to give in to the draw of sleep, and he mumbled one last thing into the silence, safe in the knowledge that Thomas was sleeping in his arms, deaf to the world. 

“You have  _ ruined _ me for anyone else.” 

And if he thought hard enough, he could almost imagine that Thomas’ grip around his waist grew a little bit tighter. 

* * *

They were enjoying the dwindling evening light by the fireplace, room warm and red around them. It was perfect for ending their day with a rather stuffy and overly lengthy book (in Thomas’ case, and in James’ resolute opinion) or the Navy’s monthly, god-awfully drab ship log (in James’ case, and in Thomas’ own rather teasing opinion). It was peaceful, a perfect way to bring in the new year, and yet despite the tranquil mood, James couldn’t stop his mind from racing in reluctant distress. He had been thinking, not about the wooing (though that was a problem for a later date, a date so far in the future that it was pointless to even dwell on), but the mistletoe. The way Thomas had phrased things… he kept telling himself that he was overthinking it, that of course something so trivial as  _ mistletoe  _ wouldn’t… but no, because It came out of his mouth before he could do much to stop himself:

“You need no excuse to kiss me, you know.” 

Thomas blinked, finger stilling on the page of his book. He turned his head slowly, and his face would have seemed impassive if James had not known him so well as to see the ghost of a smile on Thomas’ lips. He didn’t seem inclined to reply anytime soon, so James returned the faintest of smiles and continued. “It’s charming, very charming. But I don’t need charming all of the time.” He laid his hand on the couch between them, scratching listlessly at the fabric. “I need nothing brilliant, nor quick-witted or mind-numbingly crazy, though I love those times too.” 

“James, whatever are you talking about?” Thomas’ face had fallen into something completely lost, worry lines appearing between his brows. 

James grit his teeth. “You said before that you wondered just how we’d…” He made a vague gesture to his face and gave a heavy sigh at Thomas’ worsening confusion. “You had wondered how’d we fair kissing, once the season was over. I… I cannot speak for you, of course, but I feel it is important for you to know that I do not need something like mistletoe to entice me into kissing you. Nor anything else for that matter. I would kiss you at your most plain and boring, for an endless amount of times.” 

He wanted to say:  _ Please don’t tell me you’re only in this for the thrill _ .  _ Please don’t say that I alone am not enough _ . He wanted to say:  _ Look at how broken you’ve made me, and God above please realize you’re the only one that can build me back up _ . But he didn’t say any of these things, yet it seemed it mattered not because it seemed that Thomas had understood, anyway. 

Thomas’ face fell into a familiar fondness, a soft grin spreading across his features, the lines around his eyes crinkling in a way that made James want to brush his fingers and lips over them. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that much at once, darling.” James rolled his eyes, turning his head away in embarrassment. Thomas reached out and pulled him back to face him, tilting his head down to catch James’ eye. “I am more sorry than you will ever know to have caused you to worry over something so trite. I meant nothing along those lines by that statement, nothing even close. But it is a relief to hear your words all the same. I can’t say the mistletoe wasn’t at some point, a method of keeping you by my side.” James opened his mouth to protest, but Thomas cut him short. “I realize now how silly that is.” 

Thomas closed his book, checking the page number quickly as he shut it, and placed it on the ground below him. He reached out his hands, and James took them without hesitation. 

They stared at each other for moments more, Thomas biting his lip before sighing, “I have so much to say to you, James McGraw, and yet for the first time, I seem to have run out of words.” 

James chuckled shakily. “Now this is a moment I simply must remember.” 

Thomas hushed him, laughing all the while. James couldn’t fight his budding smile, as unsure as it might have been. His eyes trained adoringly on Thomas’ face. Thomas’ laughter tapered off, the calm and steady feeling from earlier filling the room once again. Thomas looked up, met James’ eye. 

“I love you.” 

James’ entire being seemed to cease function. He couldn’t feel the beating of his own heart past the pulse in Thomas’ wrist, steady and warm under his fingers. He couldn’t see anything past the blue of Thomas’ eyes, vulnerable and bright. He couldn’t hear past _ I love you _ . Despite it all, it seemed that his lips had retained their function, and he could not find it in him to be afraid of the words that tumbled out then—as they belonged there, more than any other words ever had, between his lips and in the air.

“I love you, too.” And it was okay if the words came out a little broken, a little choked. Thomas kissed him all the same. 

_ Let me kiss you at your worst as well as your best, _ he thought,  _ and every moment in between.  _

——————-

The new year had come quickly, bringing with it an even colder wind than the one before it. January had brought to an end the days just warm enough to spend outside, covering the sun more often than not with thick, snowy clouds. James found that he could care less, if only for the fact that amidst firelight Thomas’ hair shone more golden than the sun ever could hope to, and Thomas’ eyes were more than bright enough to compensate for the absent blue skies. 

His heart beat wildly in his chest as they parted from yet another soft kiss, given freely and without mistletoe in sight as the laid atop their bed, and it was all James could do but to bury his face in Thomas’s neck and press his lips gently to the man’s collarbone. 

“How can I have this?” He said, voice breathy and shaky, yet still with an incredulous smile. “How am I allowed to be so lucky?” 

“We could argue all day on who the lucky one here is, my love,” and this time James wasn’t imagining Thomas’ arms pulling him closer, tight and solid around his waist. “But if you recall, I believe I answered your question during one of our first conversations.” 

James let out a breath, pressing more kisses into Thomas’ neck. “Strange pairs,” he answered, voice low and rumbling and more content than it had any right to be. 

Thomas let out a happy hum. “Yet perfect together nonetheless.” 

And yes, perfect they were, James agreed, thinking of ink-stained hands and leather hilt wrappings—perfect together they truly were. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Gassada's absolutely stunning work here!
> 
> Please leave a comment if so inclined! I hope you enjoyed :)


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